


Six Weeks

by justbreathe80



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Chill, Rodney. It's fine. I'm calling you, so get over it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sga_flashfic Phone Calls Challenge.
> 
> I'm still sort of in shock that I wrote this, really. I don't even have any SGA ICONS. Thanks a MILLION TIMES to misspamela for the prodding into SGA and the encouragement and, finally, for doing beta duty on this. I couldn't and wouldn't have done it without you, darling!

On the day they gated back to Earth, Elizabeth wandered off without saying anything. Carson pulled Rodney into a huge hug before walking away, off to a couple of weeks of leave to see his mother in Scotland. Zelenka firmly shook Rodney’s hand with both of his, telling Rodney it was a pleasure to work with him, really, before walking away.

That left Rodney and John standing there, and, god, it was an awkward moment. Because how did you say goodbye to someone you’d seen every single day, for most of the day, for going on three years?

“So, uh, I guess I should get going,” Rodney said, glancing over at John, who had a dumbstruck look on his face, like he did the first time they gated to Atlantis.

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.” John’s voice was distracted, and he lifted up his hand, almost as if to see if things would light up for him here too.

Rodney turned and stuck out his hand. It seemed like a ridiculous gesture, to shake his hand like this, after everything, but he didn’t have a damn clue what else to do.

John reached out his hand and wrapped it around Rodney’s firmly. His hand was big and a little sweaty, and Rodney was an idiot, because now he was blushing just from shaking John Sheppard’s hand, the feeling of John's palm against his impossibly intimate.

Then, he was suddenly enveloped in John’s arms, being held close. “Colonel. John. I –“ He didn’t know what to say or what to do, because if the handshake was bad, this was a thousand times worse, and with his luck he’d probably get a hard-on from a clearly distraught John holding onto him for dear life.

“See you, Rodney,” John whispered into his ear, and before Rodney could reply, John was letting him go and, by the time Rodney opened his eyes, John was gone.

*****

One week after they left Atlantis, Rodney realized that he hated Nevada. His new lab was nice, but everyone he worked with was a grade-A idiot, despite their pages of credentials that should have meant something. There wasn’t a single one of them that held a candle to Zelenka (not that Rodney would ever tell Zelenka that, not in a million years). God, _John_ could do math in circles around most of them.

What Rodney hated the most, though, was coming home every night to this stupid apartment and not having anyone to talk to. He had his own quarters in the city, but he never realized how little time he spent alone there.

Okay, granted, most of the time he was trying to save everyone’s lives instead of going back to his room, but the times when things were quiet, he would watch movies with John and Ronon and Teyla. Rodney and John had surprisingly compatible movie tastes (they agreed not to talk about the Back to the Future thing) and Ronon and Teyla would pretty much watch anything, as long as there was popcorn.

He missed it. A lot.

So, he was sitting on his uncomfortable, ugly couch in his small, shabby apartment, eating Chinese food out of the container and watching Battlestar Galactica when the phone rang.

Rodney scrambled to get it, almost knocking the beef and broccoli onto the floor in the process (which would figure, since the carpet in the godforsaken place was _white_). When he looked at the display, it was a number he didn’t recognize, although he thought it was a Colorado area code.

“McKay,” he answered, almost out of breath.

“Hey, Rodney.” Holy shit.

“Sheppard? Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Um, nice to talk to you too?"

"Sorry, sorry. I just - I wasn't expecting to hear from you." He'd thought about John pretty much constantly since he'd disappeared that day in the gate room at SGC. He knew that John was in Colorado, working for SGC, doing what he'd done in Atlantis. But he'd never expected John to call.

"Oh." John sounded like expected that Rodney would be pleased.

Christ. Now John was _offended_ or something. "No! I mean, I thought we'd see each other eventually, or maybe I'd be at SGC sometime, but -"

"Chill, Rodney. It's fine. I'm calling you, so get over it."

"Okay." Great. Now he had no fucking clue what to say. There was a slightly awkward pause until he heard John sigh.

"How's Nevada?"

"It's good. I mean, full of completely incompetent people who like to call themselves scientists and retreading the work that I've been doing for the last three years in Atlantis. I mean, even you're better at math than most of these people. But other than that, good. I guess."

John laughed, and Rodney felt it all the way down in his toes. "You flatter me. I'm blushing."

Rodney swallowed hard. "How's the SGC?"

"It's - well, it's not Atlantis. Although I suppose nothing really is, huh? But yeah. I've got a team, we go offworld for the first time next week, and they're also completely incompetent, enough so that I actually miss taking you out. So I guess we're even."

The line went quiet, because Rodney couldn't even fill the space with mindless babbling, and the space was filled with everything they weren't saying. How much they missed Atlantis. How much they missed each other.

Finally, John cleared his throat. "Well, I better get going. Good talking to you."

"Yeah, you too,” Rodney replied, a little sadly.

Rodney thumbed the phone off and tossed it onto the cushion next to him.

*****

Two weeks after they left Atlantis (and Rodney's life started sucking, mind you), Rodney had talked to Carson, and tried to call Elizabeth a couple of times, although she wasn't picking up. John had called again, right before he took off on his first offworld mission for the SGC. Jeannie had called the day before to ask Rodney to think about coming up for Christmas.

Rodney went home every day after work, never really staying too late. He figured he was making up for three years of working pretty much around the clock by actually leaving the lab by 6pm, stopping by some place on the way home to grab takeout. The Chinese and Italian places closest to his apartment actually knew his dietary needs by now, which was a sure sign that he'd been eating both of those places way too much.

That day, he tapped his hand against his knee as he turned the last corner, and tried unsuccessfully, for about the four thousandth time that day, not to think about John. Offworld. Without Ronon and his big gun and Teyla and her ass kicking and Rodney and his brain to get him home alive. He'd had his hand on his cell phone about forty times already that day, poised to call Carson and demand some information. Was John back okay? Was he hurt? Did he get seduced by some drop-dead gorgeous alien and stay on her planet?

He was digging into his pasta when the phone, now conveniently placed next to the remote, rang. John's number flashed up, and he tried to push down the huge flood of relief coursing through him.

"Hey."

"Hey. Miss me?" _Yeah, I've missed you since the day we came back to this stupid fucking planet and my whole life went to shit. I miss you so much I can't even think straight_, he thought.

"You wish. How was your mission?"

John launched into a description of how his Marines were about twelve ("Seriously, Rodney, they make Ford look middle-aged") and not-so-bright at that ("I can't believe they all got back alive. I had my doubts at one point there"), but that the mission had been successful and interesting and the planet had really, really good beer-like stuff.

"Well, that sounds quite successful. I'm - I'm glad you made it back safely."

"Aw, thanks, Rodney," John said mockingly.

"Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you?"

"Not in the last few minutes, no."

"I hate you."

He could hear John's smile across the phone line. "So, do anything fun while I was gone?"

"Fun?" Rodney said incredulously. He hadn't seen anywhere but his lab and his apartment, and the streets in between. His car.

"You know, fun. Having a good time. Enjoying yourself."

"Shut up. I know what the definition of fun is." So what if he didn't really know what it meant.

"Okay...I guess that answers my question,” John said smugly.

"Well, I haven't exactly had much time. The lab keeps me very busy, you know, and I spend most of my time there trying to figure out why they sent me all of these people who can't figure out a simple equation, so I'm pretty busy the rest of the time with my own work. And it's not like Area 51 is a hotbed of social activity or anything. How about you? Are _you_ having any fun?"

Silence. Then, "No. Not a damn bit actually. Unless you count losing your home, your team, and your friends as fun."

"John -"

The line went dead.

*****

Three weeks after they got back from Atlantis, and Rodney realized that maybe his stupid junior high (okay, god, it was so stupid it was probably better classified as elementary school) crush on John hadn't been left back at Atlantis, things were starting to settle into a routine. The lab was still big and weird and everyone still made him want to strangle them, and there was nothing even remotely as challenging as Atlantis had been for him to work on, but he still went every day, got food on the way home, went back to his apartment, which was starting to feel like he could stand to live there.

Sometimes he called Carson on the way home in the car, and let the rhythm of Carson's voice soothe him as he told Rodney about the SGC, and what he was working on, and how he'd maybe thought about calling Cadman, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't.

He called Elizabeth on Wednesdays and Saturdays, but she didn't pick up, and didn't call back.

John called every day.

Sometimes he called during the day, when they were both at work, and they talked about nothing really at all, but Rodney had to shut the door to his office because he didn't want anyone to notice how good John's voice sounded to him, by looking at his face.

Most of the time, John called Rodney's cell phone, in the evenings, and they would watch shows on SciFi together and mock them ("Yeah, like that could ever happen," Rodney would grumble, and John would laugh and tease him, but ultimately agree). They'd talk about Colorado Springs and how there wasn't any really decent food there, and how there was even less in Nevada.

One night, when Rodney was actually sitting at his two-seat kitchen table and eating something that he'd actually cooked (Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, but it was something), the phone rang, and he smiled at the sound of John's voice on the other end. And for the first time since they'd left, they talked about Atlantis.

John started telling the story of the time they'd gone to P9A-174, and Ronon had tripped and fallen on a tree root on the way back to the jumper, dumping the case of wine the locals had given to them on the ground, the bottles breaking. John and Teyla had tried to help him up, but Ronon brushed them off, growling almost, his shirt stained pink, and limped ahead of them. John and Rodney started laughing, and after Teyla gave them both a reproachful look, she'd smiled too.

Rodney had been there, and had even heard John tell this exact story before (John kind of loved to tell stories about their missions, even to people who had been there), but he didn't care because John sounded _happy_ for the first time since they'd left, and Rodney loved hearing that.

When the end of the story trailed off, they said their goodbyes, and Rodney felt like some small piece of himself that he'd left back on Atlantis might be intact after all.

*****

The fourth week after they got back from Atlantis, Rodney got someone to work in his lab who could actually understand a full half of what came out of Rodney's mouth, and John went offworld again, this time for three days. Rodney's cell phone rang twice on Tuesday, once from Carson, calling to ask if maybe he would want to come up to Colorado Springs, have dinner with him and John, maybe they'd be able to get in touch with Elizabeth? The next call was from Jeannie, giving him an update on Madison and Caleb, asking how he was doing, wondering if he was still planning on Christmas in Canada.

He let all the calls go to voicemail. He tried Elizabeth again, but her voicemail was full.

A few times when the phone rang, he'd almost expected it to be Ronon or Teyla. He wanted it to be them, even though he knew, maybe better than anyone on Earth, that intergalactic phone calls weren't likely to happen. Maybe he'd be able to figure out how.

Rodney found himself in front of the TV every night, empty takeout containers on the coffee table, his cell phone resting on the table, right in his line of sight. So he wouldn't miss it.

He knew full well that whatever he was feeling for John was monumentally stupid, and he should feel somewhat ashamed for perhaps taking advantage of someone who was clearly having as hard of a time adjusting to life back here as Rodney was. He had hated admitting, back on Atlantis, that he had a thing for someone in the military, that it totally worked for him that John was in charge and competent and so fucking smart. That he liked when John clearly got something that Rodney was explaining, before most of the rest of the science staff. That John was the fucking hottest thing on Atlantis, hands down.

And he knew he should get out some, he'd been back a month and hadn't seen anyone but his lab staff, Mr. Vacchi, and Mrs. Wong. God, it was so pathetic to come every night and wait for John to call him. But he didn't want to stop. He needed to hang onto something, some part of his life that he'd left when he came here. John was the best thing from that.

On Thursday, the phone rang, lighting up, the Colorado number, John's number, flashing up on the screen. Rodney waited two rings before he answered it, even though his hands were practically _itching_ to reach for the phone.

"Hi."

"Hi, yourself." God, John sounded good. Maybe a little distant, but it was so good to hear his voice.

"How was it?"

"Boring. No one got shot. None of my team got killed. None of the scientists did anything monumentally stupid."

"Sorry to hear it."

"Yeah, well, is it sad that I sort of miss the Wraith?" Rodney laughed, because, god, he kind of missed them too. Not personally, just feeling like he had some kind of purpose, something to get up every day for. Saving the world and the galaxy and the universe and all that.

"Sad, yes. But I know what you're saying."

"So -" John started.

"If you ask me if I did anything fun, I'll come to Colorado and smack you."

"You should."

"Should smack you?" Maybe John wasn't holding it together as well as he was pretending to.

"Should come to Colorado. Carson said something about asking you to come out. I think you should, that's all."

"Oh. Um. Well, yes, Carson did mention it on the phone the other day, but I'm not sure -" And Rodney wasn't sure of anything at that moment, because it kind of sounded like John wanted him to come, was asking him to.

"Come on, Rodney. What the hell else are you doing? Watching TV and eating takeout? Talking to me on the damn phone? Terrorizing your staff? Come for the weekend.” He paused, and Rodney could hear him let out a deep breath. “I'd, uh, like it if you came."

Rodney could feel his heart pounding, and he _knew_, because he definitely wasn't stupid, even though no one would know it by watching the way he acted around John Sheppard, that John was asking him because they were friends. Carson wanted Rodney to come, but it _felt_ like John wanted him to come, and he couldn’t figure out for the life of him _why_.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do."

*****

The fifth week after they got back from Atlantis, and Rodney booked his plane ticket to Colorado Springs for the following week, he called John at work, like he did a few times a week. He was on his cell phone, in the hallway outside the lab, and the conversation was - well, it was like every other one, except they were talking around something and, god, was John _flirting_ with him?

They confirmed that they would see each other the next week, dinner out with Carson and Elizabeth (if anyone could get a hold of her, god knew Rodney had tried about a hundred times). Rodney bitched and complained, and then John hung up on him. Which made Rodney smile, and that was sign number three million six hundred eighty thousand that he was completely and totally screwed. That he found John's snippy little attitude, his hang up, his snark _endearing_.

But when John had asked if it was him that Rodney missed, he'd wanted to say that, _yes_, he might be able to stand never going back to Atlantis ever again if he could have John. Right now, he was even willing to take John across hundreds of miles and a phone line, because it was the only thing that was keeping him from completely fucking losing it.

Every week that passed, every time John called him during Jeopardy and tried to beat him to the answers, every time John told a story about one of their missions that had gone hilariously, horribly wrong, Rodney went deeper and deeper, and he wondered more and more if John felt the same way.

Rodney flipped off the TV, booting up his laptop, and changed his flight to Colorado Springs, to get there two days earlier.

*****

The sixth week after they got back from Atlantis, Rodney grabbed the small slip of paper from between the take-out menus on his coffee table (there was a great Thai place that delivered, and seemed to be okay with taking the lime out of everything), where he’d scribbled John’s address. John had given it to Rodney a few weeks before (“you know, in case you ever wanted to send me a care package or something”). He stuffed it deep in his pocket before heading out the door.

The flight to Colorado Springs was quick, and Rodney drove his ugly (but fuel-efficient) Honda rental toward John's apartment. He found street parking, which he hoped didn't use up his luck for the day, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, pulling out his cell phone.

"Hey, Rodney." John almost always knew when it was him. Rodney thought he must be the only one that was actually calling John for this to be possible. Either than or he had caller ID.

"Hi." Now that he'd made the call, standing outside in the cold Colorado night in front of John's building, he had no fucking clue what to say.

"Um, how's it going?"

"It's good."

"Okay. So, you're coming in a couple of days, right?" John sounded almost hopeful, and it propelled Rodney's feet toward the door and up the stairs.

"Yeah, my flight gets in on Thursday. I'm not sure my lab minions will survive without me, but I really don't care."

John laughed. "Need me to pick you up from the airport?" Rodney rounded the first flight of stairs and started up the second.

"You don't have to," Rodney said, nonchalantly, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Well, don't get too excited, but I want to, okay? Just tell me when your flight is coming in, I'll come get you."

Rodney stepped onto the third floor and followed the apartment numbers down to 3F. "Okay, that sounds good." He raised his hand, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Great, uh - hold on," John said, then yelled "One minute!" which Rodney could hear through the phone and the door.

Rodney took the phone from his ear and disconnected the call, as the door flung open. John stood in the doorway, his mouth hanging open, the phone still pressed up against his ear. "Jesus. Rodney?"

"I know it's been a while, but I certainly hope you still recognize me,” Rodney said, crossing his arms over his chest.

John lowered the phone and flipped it shut. "Yeah, yeah. I mean - come in."

Rodney pushed past him and into the apartment, which was really, really sad, and he was kind of glad that John hadn't talked much about his place, because knowing it looked like this would have made the last six weeks even worse. There was a huge, ugly, leather recliiner and a small TV on a folding table in the living room. And that was _it_.

"Rodney. If you don't mind me asking, and not that I'm not thrilled to see you after all this time, but what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were coming on Thursday." John looked completely lost, and was just standing in the middle of the room, sweatpants low on his hips, a white t-shirt, and his stupid fucking hair still sticking up in every direction.

"Yeah, change of plans," Rodney said quickly, walking toward John the wall and pushing him into it.

"Rodney, what the fuck -" but Rodney cut him off with his lips, pressed tightly to John's, and it was a few seconds before John gave up batting his arms half-heartedly against Rodney's back and fisted his hands in the fabric of Rodney's jacket, pulling him closer. Oh, yeah. God. This was just as good and a million times better than Rodney had imagined it, had been imagining it for years. And John was totally getting with the program too, pushing his hips against Rodney's, moaning into Rodney's mouth as he stroked his tongue against Rodney's.

Rodney hadn't even realized how much he'd missed home, missed Atlantis, but being with John wasn't just the next best thing. He _was_ Atlantis. And suddenly, Rodney didn't care as much if he ever got to go back, as long as he got this.

When they pulled away from each other, they were both panting, and Rodney felt really, really freaked out and sort of stupid.

John broke first. "Okay. Um, not that, you know, I didn't enjoy that or whatever, but you caught me a little off guard there."

"I'm sorry, I just - I couldn't - I'm sorry. God," Rodney said, his voice low, his eyes focused on a crack in the paint behind John's right shoulder.

"Don't be."

"What?"

"I said, don't be. I'm surprised, but it's kind of been leading up to this for a while, hasn't it? I mean, have you really talked to anyone else from Atlantis since you got back?"

Rodney thought about it. He thought about talking to Jeannie a few times (but she was his sister) and the handful of perfunctory exchanges with Carson. The unanswered calls to Elizabeth. Ronon and Teyla not having an intergalactic cell phone. "No, not really," he answered. "Not that I really understand what that has to do with what just happened."

When Rodney trained his eyes back on John's face, he was smiling. That stupid fucking gorgeous smile that made Rodney feel like he was thirteen again, not a brilliant astrophysicist pushing forty with multiple PhDs, a Nobel Prize in his future, and dozens of minions. The smile that made him do a million stupid things to get it focused on him back in Atlantis.

"Well, Rodney, I called you because I wanted to talk to you, you moron." John crossed his arms in front of his chest, smirking and looking completely ridiculous and hot and debauched. His shirt was rucked up a little, and Rodney had to ball his hand in a fist to keep from touching the exposed skin there.

"Oh?" Because Rodney was starting to figure out what that meant.

"Don't make me say it again. I'll kick your ass." John reached his arms out and pulled Rodney off-balance, sending him propelling toward John's body.

"Yes, Colonel. Yes, sir," Rodney whispered against John's neck. John smelled like Atlantis, like the cool, ocean breezes, like Athosian curry, like everything Rodney missed that he thought was about there and home, when it wasn't about that at all.

"Mmm...I could get used to _that_," John said, and Rodney couldn't stand it anymore. He yanked on John's arms and tugged him toward the bedroom, which was also sad, just a bed and a small nightstand. Half-empty closet.

"This place sucks, by the way," Rodney said, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of John's sweatpants and tugging them down. John stepped out of them and let Rodney push him back on the bed, stripping off his t-shirt while Rodney watched, starting to work on his own clothes.

"You're such a charmer, McKay," John said, grinning and spreading his legs, just a little. Rodney had a moment of disbelief, where he remembered that he was _not_ the sort of guy that got to have sex with guys like John. Because John was beautiful, all long, lean lines and a fucking gorgeous cock, which was hard for Rodney, which really didn't make any sense at all, if Rodney stopped to think about it.

So he decided to stop thinking. And stop talking, because he'd been doing way too much of that with John lately, and he was tired of fucking talking so much. He got the rest of his clothes off, and climbed up the length of John's body. "Shut up," he said, almost growling.

John moaned and threw his head back, and Rodney latched onto his neck, breathing him in and letting the pieces slide together, let some of the resentment toward the Ancients who unceremoniously kicked them out of the city melt away against John's body, because it didn't matter anymore. And he let everything go when he felt the hot, hard slide of John's cock against his lips and into his mouth, John's hands soft in his hair, John's words, his "god, Rodney, please" in the quiet of the room.

*****

The sixth week after they got back from Atlantis, Rodney woke up to the sun streaming in the window, and felt the press of John's body against his side.

He didn't have to pick his cell phone up from the bedside table, because the only person he really cared about talking to was fast asleep next to him. And it was the first morning that he didn't miss something in a long time, because he had Atlantis, here in this (really, really spectacularly) shitty apartment in Colorado Springs.


End file.
